


can't walk away from you

by joshllyman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Constipation, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Slow Burn, Sugawara Koushi is a Good Friend, friends with benefits to fake dating to lovers, kuroo gets drunk in one scene, pls for the love of god listen to suga, you'd think it wouldn't be a slow burn but it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28518489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshllyman/pseuds/joshllyman
Summary: Daichi and Kuroo have a good thing going. They're friends who have sex sometimes. It's great for both of them, really, and Daichi has no desire to complicate it by adding his own feelings into the mix.But Kuroo needs a favor, and it's one that will have Daichi grappling with the depths of what's in his heart, for better or worse.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi
Comments: 47
Kudos: 267
Collections: stories that touched me





	can't walk away from you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yakus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakus/gifts).



> Iris, I am so sorry this is late, but I really hope you enjoy this!! Merry Christmas <3

Daichi’s back hits the mattress, and he groans as Kuroo follows him down, his weight pinning Daichi’s hips to the bed. He leans over to scrape his teeth against Daichi’s neck.

“So fucking hot,” Kuroo breathes, the words hot as they prick Daichi’s skin. “Wanted to take you into the bathroom and have my way with you so bad tonight.”

“Do it here,” Daichi says. 

“M’gonna.” He sucks momentarily on Daichi’s earlobe. Daichi forgets how to think. “But first I need to personally thank the gods for the way your thighs filled out your jeans.”

Kuroo slinks down his body and attaches his mouth to the muscle of Daichi’s thigh. Daichi swears as Kuroo’s strong hands push his legs open. By now he knows Kuroo’s got a thing for his thighs; every time they fuck, they end up covered in marks that he’s lucky if he can cover up the next few days at work. He’s gotten hell from his coworkers more than once, but he’s gotten pretty used to not paying them any mind when they wheedle him for details about his personal life. 

Most of the thoughts empty out of Daichi’s head once Kuroo’s tongue finds his ass. They hadn’t discussed who was bottoming tonight, but if Daichi’s getting a rimjob out of it, he sure as hell doesn’t mind. Kuroo’s tongue is sinful, lapping at him like he’s a treat to be savored. Daichi can’t help but make a lot of really obscene sounds, sounds that he’s sure Kuroo will give him shit about later when his mouth’s less occupied. At the moment, it only encourages him to hum in appreciation. His tongue is joined by two fingers, then three as he coaxes Daichi to open up for him. His mouth wanders, too, occasionally sucking more bruises into Daichi’s thighs or wrapping briefly around the head of his cock and licking at the pre-come gathering on his slit. 

Daichi’s swearing with impatience and frustration by the time Kuroo finally sits up and reaches for a condom. He reaches down to stroke himself and gets batted away.

“Gods, Daichi, you’d think you could wait thirty seconds,” Kuroo says, smirking, his eyes lidding heavily.

“Fuck you,” Daichi hisses. 

“Actually, I think I’m fucking you.”

“You’re really not, you pri— _ ah, fuck _ !”

Kuroo laughs as he slides in in one swift motion. He bends down to hover over Daichi, his nose pressing against Daichi’s.

“What was that about not fucking you?” he murmurs, and that low, low tone, the way Kuroo licks his lips… Daichi’s cock twitches between them, and he whimpers. 

Kuroo bends a little further, pressing his lips just beneath Daichi’s ear. “You’re so easy, Sa’amura. All I have to do is use this voice on you and you’re begging for me. I could say anything as long as I used this tone. Fruit salad. Telephone cable. Salonpas—”

Daichi grips at Kuroo’s hair, yanks just a little too hard. “Kuroo Tetsurou, I hate you so much.”

Kuroo’s eyes are wide, but he still manages to look smug as hell. “Nah, you don’t.” 

Daichi would argue some more, but Kuroo finally begins to move, shallow thrusts at first just to get them both used to it. And then he slides almost all the way out and back in, pressing himself flush against Daichi’s ass. They moan in unison, and Daichi lets go of Kuroo’s hair to grasp the sheets instead.

“Come on, come on,” he breathes, rolling his hips. “Kuroo, come on, please.”

“See? Begging,” Kuroo says, but that’s the last words they exchange for a while. 

Kuroo sets a punishing pace, grabbing Daichi’s leg and bending it up so he can fuck him deeper. Daichi’s thankful Suga’s made him go to all those yoga classes recently, because it means he can easily wrap his other leg around Kuroo’s waist. Kuroo occupies himself once again with Daichi’s thigh. He kisses it, bites it, bruises it, whispers things Daichi’s too far gone to understand into the skin and sweat. Every time his lips come into contact with a new spot it pushes Daichi a little further toward the edge.

Kuroo’s tell when he’s close is that his eyes squeeze shut and he bites his lip; when Daichi catches that look on his face, he grabs at Kuroo’s hand and brings it to his cock. They’ve finished together enough times by now that this is a practiced dance. Kuroo knows the exact amount of pressure to apply, the exact pace at which to stroke so that when he buries himself deep inside Daichi and comes with a groan, Daichi spills over his hand just half a second later.

They find each other’s gaze as they come down. Kuroo lets go of Daichi’s cock and runs his tongue through the mess on his hand, and Daichi groans faintly at the sight. After a few more moments, he presses one last kiss to Daichi’s knee and slides out of him.

Kuroo flops down on his back beside Daichi. “Fuck,” he breathes. Daichi’s inclined to agree, only he doesn’t have enough of his breath back to talk just yet. He looks over at Kuroo, meeting his hazel eyes. There’s something that passes between them, something he can’t quite put a name to. Whatever it is, it’s been surfacing more often lately, especially in these quiet moments after they’ve both come but haven’t gotten up yet to get dressed and go back to just being friends. It knocks the wind out of him every time, makes him want to say words that shouldn’t be spoken to someone who’s not supposed to be anything more than a friend. His heart catches somewhere in his throat; they’ve been staring at each other for a long while now, and neither of them have looked away. Daichi finally looks up at the ceiling.

They begin to laugh at the same time. 

It’s something of a relief, because it replaces the tension coiling in his gut with levity, makes his breathlessness the result of some unstated joke instead of the desperate desire of his heart. He doesn’t even know what they’re laughing at, really, but the obnoxious bray from Kuroo’s mouth makes it easier not to lean over and kiss him senseless. 

“Fuck, Sa’amura,” Kuroo says a few minutes later, when they’ve regained their senses. “That was good.”

“Yeah,” Daichi agrees. He’s still just drunk enough that when his fingers brush against Kuroo’s and neither of them pull away, he can blame it on the alcohol coursing through his system. “Yeah, it was good.”

It’s quiet for a long while. He thinks Kuroo might have drifted off; the other man is rarely so quiet, especially when he’s been drinking. But then he turns to Daichi and props himself up on his elbow.

“You busy this weekend?” he asks, and it’s meant to come out casual. It’s just casual, Daichi reminds himself. “There’s that new  _ Avengers _ movie coming out.”

“Bokuto’s not dragging you?”

“He’s taking Akaashi, who has strictly prohibited me from third-wheeling at movie theaters, specifically. Apparently I encourage Bokuto to talk too much.”

Daichi laughs. “Yeah, alright. I’m free Saturday night if you want.”

“Yeah.” 

They stare at each other for another moment; in Kuroo’s gaze hangs a question.

_ And after? You’ll come home with me? _

“And I’ve got the late shift Sunday,” Daichi says, and he’s met with Kuroo’s bright smile. 

He really needs to stop being so dependent on that smile.

Daichi sits up and stretches, raising his arms above his head. “I should probably head out. I’ve got the early shift tomorrow.”

He feels Kuroo’s eyes on him as he searches for his jeans. They’d gone flying in his haste to remove them, but he swears they were—there, just beneath the bookshelf. He tugs them on, jumping a bit to get them up to his waist.

“No need to rush, Sa’amura.”

Daichi looks back over to Kuroo. He’s got his cock in hand, half-hard, and he’s giving himself long, slow strokes. Daichi’s lip catches between his teeth.

“You could come back over here,” Kuroo suggests. He gives Daichi a devious grin. “You’re still loose, right? Might as well go for round two.”

“I have the early shift,” Daichi says again, but he can feel his resolve breaking down swiftly as Kuroo runs his thumb over his slit.

“You’re not an old man just yet,” Kuroo says. “Live a little.”

He strokes himself again and throws his head back, revealing the line of his throat. There’s a faint bruise just above his Adam’s apple that Daichi desperately wants to darken.

“You’re a menace,” Daichi says, but he goes for the button of his jeans anyway.

“Then do something about it,” Kuroo suggests, and so Daichi does.

***

Daichi’s working up a hell of a headache by lunch the next day. He and Kuroo usually stick to weekend dick appointments, but since they were seeing each other at the captains’ reunion anyway, there was no reason  _ not _ to go home with him. He’d drank too much before they’d fucked, and they’d fucked too much for him to get much sleep. Coffee is not enough on days like these, he muses to himself.

His inner Suga tells him it’s his own damn fault. He tells his inner Suga to fuck off, as he usually does.

Then again, his inner Suga—and also the actual Suga—are also on his case to just  _ talk _ to Kuroo about the situation he’s beginning to find himself in. That feeling, that unnamed thing that he’s refusing to acknowledge, it’s coming closer and closer to naming itself, and Daichi really doesn’t want to deal with that. He and Kuroo have been fucking for seven or eight months now, and so far he’s got a really good track record of being able to keep his feelings out of it. But more and more, he’s finding himself wanting to reach over and hold Kuroo’s hand when they’re watching movies, or kiss his cheek when he rolls out of bed, or just—not roll out of bed at all. Stay the night, maybe.

But it’s been seven or eight months, and Kuroo’s never said anything about being anything more than what they are. Daichi’s long determined that he’s not going to be the one to rock the boat; the thought of losing Kuroo, one of his best friends, is too much to bear. 

So he pushes his feelings down, only whining about them in texts to Asahi and Suga. Asahi is a good, good friend who is always incredibly sympathetic. Suga...less so.

Suga’s last text had read  _ suck it up and tell him, you fucking coward, or I swear on Osamu’s sweet sweet onigiri I will tell him for you _ .

In the end, Daichi had elected to just not answer him.

It’s around noon and he’s starving. He’s just thinking about getting up and digging his bag out from the refrigerator when his phone, which had been sitting dormant on his desk since Suga’s last text before the school day had started, begins to buzz.

Daichi picks it up and answers it without looking at the screen. “Sawamura.”

“Alright, listen, I have a situation,” says Kuroo’s voice through the phone.

Daichi’s brows furrow. This is an odd time of day for Kuroo to be calling him. Kuroo calling him at all is odd; they generally stick to texts.

“Hit me,” Daichi answers, and it really is a testament to their friendship that he doesn’t question the call or the lack of greeting.

“So my favorite cousin Ichika is getting married next weekend,” Kuroo begins. 

Daichi can see immediately that this is going somewhere that’s going to be bad for his health. His heart beats furiously in his chest. 

“Congratulations,” he says monotonously.

“Yeah, it’s great, high school sweethearts and everything, except my mom somehow got it in her head that I have a boyfriend and now I need a boyfriend.”

Daichi pinches the bridge of his nose. “Too bad no one will date your furry ass.”

“Ha ha, very funny, Sa’amura,” Kuroo deadpans. There’s a loud sigh on the other end of the phone. “Listen, any other time you know I’d hit up Bokuto first, but mom knows him and knows he’s been married to Akaashi since the moment they met, and she’d laugh in my face if I brought Kenma.”

“Take Suga,” Daichi suggests half-heartedly.

“I want to make it out of this wedding alive,” Kuroo replies. “I hate to ask because I know how much you hate wearing suits, but could you do me a solid and pretend to be my boyfriend for a day?”

Daichi wants to scream. He may have to scream once he hangs up the phone, if he wants to maintain any semblance of his sanity. “What are you going to tell your mother after the wedding?”

“That’s a problem for future me,” Kuroo says. “Present me is more worried about not disappointing her on the day of our favorite cousin’s wedding. Come on, man, I really need your help.”

Daichi squirms. He’s a good person. He knows he’s a good person. He knows he’s going to say yes, because Kuroo needs him. It’s what he’d do for any friend.

It’s an unfortunate coincidence that the friend asking is the one he’s hiding a whole closet full of feelings for.

“Please,” Kuroo says, and if Daichi wasn’t already fucked, he’s definitely fucked now.

“I’ll be there,” he says, holding back his sigh.

Kuroo swears in relief. “Thank you, thank you, Daichi. You are the best man I know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daichi answers, his voice tight. He hopes it doesn’t carry through the phone. “Just the day of the wedding, right?”

Kuroo clears his throat. “And the rehearsal dinner. But that’s it, I swear.”

“The rehearsal dinner,” Daichi says flatly. “Of course.”

“Do you have a tux?”

“What makes you think I would have a tux?”

“Right, it’s you. I’ll pay for your rental. We can do the fitting Saturday before the movie.”

“Hooray.”

“Thank you, Daichi. I really mean it. Ichika is a sweetheart. I owe you. Like, really big time owe you. Thank you.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Daichi sighs. 

“I’ll pick you up Saturday morning.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you. Again.”

“Bye, Kuroo.”

“Bye.”

Daichi sinks into his chair once he’s set his phone back down on the table in front of him and lets out a long groan into the wood. A concerned coworker pats him awkwardly on the back as he passes. Daichi lifts his head long enough to take a sip from his third (now cold) mug of coffee. His hunger forgotten, he reaches for his phone long enough to send a text to Suga and Asahi.

<< _ I’m going to Kuroo’s cousin’s wedding next weekend as Kuroo’s fake boyfriend, so can you do me a favor and just kill me sometime before next Saturday? _

He gets called out to an emergency shortly after that and doesn’t see Suga’s answer until after he gets back to his apartment that night. But it’s pretty much exactly what Daichi expects.

>> _ You’re a fucking idiot, and I don’t feel sorry for you. _ _   
_ >> _ But I do have the perfect spot picked out for your body. _

***

“Did you even try to tell him no?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

“You could at least pretend to believe me.”

“I’m not stroking your ego, I’m trying to talk some sense into you. Do another rep.”

Daichi inhales and sweeps his arms over his head. Across from him, Suga does the same. For a moment he is caught in the peace and familiarity of the motions, the flow of the exercise. By the time they’re in downward dog, Suga’s looking up at him again.

“This is bad for you, you know,” he says. “What happens when you fill a balloon with too much air?”

“Pops. Am I the balloon?”

“You are.”

“And the air is?”

“Unspoken feelings.”

“Are you suggesting I’m going to spontaneously combust?”

“It’s not the most unlikely outcome.” They switch into upward dog. “Just try to not do it in the rented suit. I doubt that’s covered, and then he’ll have to pay extra.”

“This is the friendly advice you’re giving me? Don’t explode in a rented suit?”

“The friendly advice I gave you a month ago was to tell Kuroo how you feel.” They face each other again, hands at heart center. Then Suga’s drop to his hips. “You didn’t want that advice then.”

“I don’t want it now.”

“Why do you think it’s so unlikely that he feels the same? You’ve been friends for a long time now.”

“Exactly. I’d have seen it by now. I’d know.”

“Are you saying he knows about how you feel?”

“No, because I’ve been keeping it quiet. Low key.”

“Sawamura Daichi, you can be low key about a great many things. Your heart is not one of them. Remember when you liked that guy in college and you bought him—shit, what was it?”

“A personalized fountain pen.” Daichi frowns. “This time is different.”

“Sure, sure, that tracks.” Suga shakes his head. “Anyway, what’s to say Kuroo’s not keeping his feelings secret, too?”

“He’s not,” Daichi says firmly. He crosses his arms. “I’m telling you, I’d know.”

Suga sighs. “The only thing harder than your head is your dick when you’re around him, you know that?”

Daichi glares at his friend. “Fuck off.”

“No. And we’re doing balance exercises next, so you might as well get your bitching out now.”

Daichi groans.

***

Saturday morning dawns bright and sunny. Daichi frowns at the lack of clouds and draws the blinds, heading back to bed and burying his head beneath a pillow. 

It works, for about two minutes. He’s just on the verge of passing back out when his phone buzzes once. Then again. And again.

“Fuck  _ off _ ,” Daichi moans, reaching blindly for where he thinks he sat it on the side table last night.

>> _ rise and shine ill be there in 30ish _ _   
_ >> _ you have coffee? i need coffee _ _   
_ >> _ nevermind ill just grab some on the way there _

Daichi grumbles into his pillow. He’d like to say he’d almost forgotten about the tux fitting, but in all honesty it’s been sitting on his chest like a lead weight for days. Now that the day has actually arrived, it feels like that weight just might crush him.

Kuroo had been right to say he hates tuxes—they’re itchy and uncomfortable, and his broad shoulders don’t make it easy to squeeze into a jacket. But more than hating tuxes, he’s incredibly nervous about the concept of doing any of this—all of this—with Kuroo. They’ve seen literally every inch of each other, so the concept of intimacy isn’t foreign, but there’s physical intimacy and then there’s emotional intimacy, and things like trying on rental tuxes to go to your cousin’s wedding definitely fall into the latter category. 

It’s fine. It’s all going to be fine. Somewhere in the chaos of his mind he has created a plan, and the plan is thus:

Step one: take a deep breath. He does that.

Step two: shut the hell up. He can do that. Probably.

<< _ You better be bringing me some, too. _

He throws his phone to the side and runs through the shower, and he’s dressed with hair still dripping by the time there’s a knock at his door. He throws his towel around his shoulders and goes to open it.

Kuroo hands him a cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” Daichi says, flashing him a smile. He accepts the cup and wanders back into the apartment. “Just give me a few more minutes to grab some socks and get my hair dry.”

“Uh huh,” Kuroo says, but there’s a strange note to his voice. Daichi turns back to him, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes.

“You good? You look like you saw a ghost on the way in.”

“No ghost,” Kuroo affirms, blinking owlishly, but that’s all the more information Daichi gets. He decides to drop it and heads back into the bathroom.

When he comes back out, Kuroo seems to have recovered. He’s lounging on Daichi’s couch like an extra long panther, his legs spread out like he owns the place. He sips at his coffee with one hand and scrolls through something on his phone with the other. Daichi leans in a doorway and watches him for a moment, his heart tapping out a staccato beat, until Kuroo looks up and catches him staring. A smirk spreads across his face.

“Like what you see?”

Daichi rearranges his face into something more neutral. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking about calling animal control.”

“Aww, Sa’amura! You wouldn’t open your home to a cat in need?”

“The cat in question is most certainly not in need and is determined to scratch up my furniture.”

“Claws away, I promise.” Kuroo pockets his phone. “You ready?”

Daichi nods. “Take me to my grave, Kuroo-san.”

“No need to be overdramatic,” Kuroo laughs. Daichi’s stomach swoops. He reminds it of step two. “Come on, then.”

***

“There is not a single tuxedo in this entire shop that fits me,” Daichi grumbles.

“Alright, well, we haven’t tried on every single tuxedo yet, so we don’t know that that’s true,” Kuroo reasons, although there’s not a lot of hope on his face. They’ve been at it nearly two hours. Every suit is either too large, designed for someone with both shoulders and gut, or entirely too small, designed for a man half his width. He’s always reasoned he’d just buy a tux if he needed one, but this doesn’t warrant that.

There’s one left in the pile amassed by the shop employees. It’s the most hideous thing either of them have laid eyes on, red with obnoxious gold paisley patterns all over. Daichi frowns deeply.

“I’m gonna look like a walking carpet,” Daichi huffs, crossing his arms. 

“It’ll be fine,” Kuroo says. “This isn’t the one you’ll be wearing to the actual wedding, it’s just to get an idea of your measurements so they can make sure they’ve got one for you.”

Daichi grumbles some more, but he snatches the suit from Kuroo’s outstretched hands and closes himself in the dressing room for the twentieth time and wrestles himself into the rug.

It fits. It looks...horrible. It looks godawful. But it fits. He grimaces at himself in the mirror and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Was the suit actually a carpet monster that ate you alive?” Kuroo calls when Daichi hesitates at the door. “I’m starting to get concerned.”

“No, although I kind of wish it was.”

“Then what’s the holdup? Show me.”

Daichi groans. “Just...don’t judge me, alright?”

“Hell, Sa’amura, who do you think I am, Suga?”

“No. You’re worse,” Daichi says flatly. He takes one last deep breath. “Alright, I’m coming out.”

“Feel it’s a bit late for that considering you—”

Kuroo’s mouth shuts with a barely audible snap as Daichi steps out of the fitting room. He blinks once, and then his eyes rake down Daichi’s body. He settles on various parts in turn; shoulders, waist, thighs.

“Turn,” he instructs in a tight voice.

Daichi turns, and he can’t help but feel like his ass is on display. Kuroo takes a loud, deep breath.

“You look good,” he says, his voice coming out all wrong.

Daichi huffs as he turns around. “Don’t fucking lie, this thing is hideous—”

“Yeah, yeah, carpet fabric, I get it.” He sounds a bit more like himself now. “But the fit is right. The fit is...the fit is good.”

Daichi chews at the inside of his cheek. “The fit is good?”

“The fit is, uh. Very good.”

Daichi stares at Kuroo for a long moment; Kuroo doesn’t quite meet his gaze, instead leveling his eyes at Daichi’s chest.

“Alright, I’m out,” Daichi grumbles, turning around and heading back into the fitting room.

“Ah, not just yet,” Kuroo says, reaching out and grabbing Daichi’s wrist. Daichi’s pulse flutters under his touch. “We’ve gotta get the tailors over here.”

Daichi grits his teeth. “Go get them, then. I don’t want to have to be in this thing any longer than I absolutely have to.”

“Aye, captain,” Kuroo says, throwing him a wink and a salute as he wanders off.

For the next twenty minutes or so, several men who aren’t Kuroo put their hands all over Daichi’s body. They measure every centimeter of him, from the circumference of his wrists to the width of his chest. The attention chafes at him, makes him feel hot under the collar, and the way Kuroo is eyeing him over the edge of his phone does nothing to help that, either. When they finally, finally go, Daichi turns and glares at him.

“Now can I be done?”

He waves Daichi off. “Be free, little crow.”

“Fuck off.”

Daichi turns and heads back into the dressing room, but once again finds his wrist being grabbed. He looks up and meets Kuroo’s eyes.

Kuroo glances in the direction of the shop for a long moment, then slips into the fitting room ahead of Daichi. He reaches around to shut the door behind them.

“What are you doing?” Daichi murmurs.

“What I’ve wanted to do since you came out of here in the first place,” Kuroo answers, and he pushes Daichi’s back into the door. 

The protest Daichi begins to form is cut off by Kuroo’s mouth slamming into his own, hot and needy. Where it was parted slightly, a word of warning trying to form, Kuroo slips his tongue in. Daichi can’t even find it in himself to question it, not when Kuroo feels so fucking good against him. His head hits the door with a thud, and Kuroo’s mouth sinks down to his neck.

“Rugs do it for you, huh?” Daichi breathes.

Kuroo growls against his throat. “Don’t fucking ruin the moment.”

They make out hot and heavy against the door for several long minutes, in which Daichi finally does have the presence of mind to wonder what the hell they’re doing but not the wherewithal to stop it. Now he’s not only doing the emotionally intimate act of trying on suits for his not-boyfriend’s cousin’s wedding, they’re making out while he does it. This is undeniably boyfriend territory, and yet—

Kuroo pulls off. A quick glance below his waist tells Daichi they’re both in the same precarious situation of nearly having boners they can’t hide. Kuroo adjusts his shirt to cover himself up. 

“See you out there, then,” he says, and he slips past Daichi and out the fitting room door.

It takes Daichi a lot of effort not to scream once the door closes behind him. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, trying to determine just how debauched he looks. His lips are puffy, his hair messy, and, yeah, there’s definitely at least three quarters of a boner down there. Shit. 

He takes his time getting dressed in his own clothes again, desperately thinking the least horny thoughts he can think. His hair he can muss back into place easily enough. There’s nothing to be done for his mouth, but he’ll keep his head down on the way out and that should do it. It’s definitely not the worst he’s ever looked.

Still, the question nags at him: what had Kuroo been playing at, following him into the dressing room in the first place? Making out with him in a very public place and decidedly not either of their apartments, the only places they’ve ever done anything? Disappearing like it was nothing? The more he asks, the more his frustration grows, and he’s got half a mind to go out there and say something. He takes a deep breath and pushes through the door.

Kuroo’s leaning back in his chair, scrolling through his phone with his legs crossed, looking like nothing had happened at all. When Daichi emerges, he looks up and raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ll pick up the suit Friday afternoon, so we’re all set. You good to go?”

_ Say something _ , his inner Suga shouts.  _ Say something! Anything! _

“We should grab lunch before we catch the movie.” Daichi’s a coward, a goddamn coward, a disgrace to the family name. “I don’t want to pay theater prices for snacks.”

“Good call. Let’s get going then.”

“Sure.”

Daichi’s hand clenches into a fist at his side. 

There’s no way in hell he’s telling Suga about this.

***

“Alright, spill,” Suga says the moment the new age music on his speaker stops. 

Daichi had been enjoying a nice, peaceful savasana, completely free of any thoughts whatsoever. He’d nearly been asleep. Now he rolls over and looks at Suga.

“What do you want from me?”

“You’ve been weirdly silent about your not-date Saturday.”

Daichi groans and lays back down, refusing to meet Suga’s eyes. Instead he glares up at the ceiling of Suga’s apartment. “What’s to tell? I tried on at least fifteen suits, we saw a movie, he took me home.”

“You fuck?”

Daichi scowls. “Yes.”

“You say anything?”

“You’d think I’d have led with that if I did.”

For a moment Suga is quiet. Then there’s a heavy weight on Daichi’s middle. He lets out an “oof” as Suga straddles him. He jabs a pointy finger into Daichi’s chest.

“There’s something you’re not telling me. You know I have a sense about these things. And if I find out you told Asahi—”

“Fuck, Suga, I didn’t tell Asahi!” Daichi protests. “Get off me.”

“Not until you tell me.”

“I’m  _ gonna _ tell Asahi if you don’t fucking move—”

“You know it takes nothing to sway him to tell me—”

“We made out in the dressing room, alright! Now let me up!”

Suga’s jaw drops, but he acquiesces, swinging his leg back over Daichi and letting Daichi sit up, staring at him all the while. Daichi rests his elbows on his knees and hides his face.

“Can you not,” he asks, although he’s certain Suga can’t not.

“You  _ made out in the dressing room _ ?”

“Yes, those are the exact words I said, very good.”

“Quit being an ass, you’re no good at it.” Suga swats his calf. “Daichi. You know that’s not just friend shit.”

Daichi sighs, because he’s had this exact argument with himself thirteen times or so since Saturday. “Yeah, well, tell him that, because absolutely nothing changed about the rest of the day.”

Suga huffs. “What needed to change for you to realize that’s what it was? He was trying to take you on a real date!”

“He wasn’t, Suga,” Daichi says. He hears the defeat in his own voice. “There was no other boyfriend-like behavior.”

“Come on!” Suga stands and paces several times back and forth in front of Daichi’s mat. “What, you wanna take him on stupid dates in the park where you pack a picnic and hold hands and some shit? Would that show you?”

Daichi shrugs. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“You’re fucking hopeless.”

“Probably.”

“I’m telling Asahi, and he’s gonna tell you the same things I’m telling you.”

Daichi covers his head with his arms. “I already did, and yes, he did.”

A beat passes, and then an unholy screech and a flurry of arms and legs.

“SAWAMURA!”

***

With only three days to go before the wedding, Daichi feels like he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. He’s spent all his spare time thinking about Kuroo since Saturday, and despite considering the two of them in a lot of different...positions, none of those positions get him any closer to actually asking Kuroo about how he feels. He’s considered it, if only under extreme duress with Suga holding one arm behind his back. But the thought of it makes his stomach coil tight with dread and fear. When he’d passed this on, Suga had sighed and let him go.

“You really think he’s that bad of a friend?” he’d asked, his eyes sad. 

Daichi hadn’t been quite able to respond to that.

Fortunately, work has kept him busy. There’ve been more calls than usual, so he hasn’t had to think too hard about his own failure as a person. Wednesday afternoon, though, everything slows, and he’s catching up on a backlog of paperwork at his desk and decidedly  _ not _ about his personal life. 

But then, like clockwork, his phone lights up with a text from Kuroo.

>> _ what are you doin tomorrow _

<< _ Tomorrow is my only day off this week, since you’re stealing Saturday. _

>> _ soooo you’re helping me pick out a gift for ichika? _

Daichi scowls at his phone. What business does he have helping with that?

<< _ I wasn’t aware gift shopping was part of my fake boyfriend contract. _

>> _ its part of the friend contract _ _   
_ >> _ you signed it years ago don’t argue with me _

Daichi huffs aloud. He had been about to refute it, too. He supposes there’s no contract for friends with benefits. 

Of course, then Kuroo has to pull out the big guns.

>> _ please? i really need your help _

Daichi groans, knowing he’s about to give in. He can’t believe it only took one word to change his mind. He is so whipped. 

<< _ Fine. _

>> _ be at my apartment at eight _

<< _ It is my goddamn DAY OFF. _

>> _ yes but im your favorite hopeless mess _

<< _ I already regret agreeing to this. _   
<< _ Honestly fuck you. _

>> _ might let you do that too, if youre really helpful ;) _

He refuses to dignify that—nor the pleased swoop of his stomach—with a response.

***

Kuroo shoves a mug into his hands before he even gets the chance to knock a second time the next morning. His fist still hovers awkwardly where the door just was.

“Coffee,” says Kuroo. He’s not quite ready yet, his hair still the entirely untamed mess it is straight out of bed (rather than the slightly more tamed mess it is after he’s run a brush through it) and sleep still hanging on to the corners of his eyes. It’s unfortunately cute, and it makes Daichi resent him a little less for the early morning.

“Thanks,” he grumbles.

“Least I could do,” Kuroo says with a shrug. He doesn’t quite meet Daichi’s eyes. “There’s breakfast, too. Big day ahead of us.”

He shuffles back into the apartment, and Daichi follows after him, unsure if he’s joking or not. 

Evidently he’s not. There’s a spread on the table, rice and eggs and little sausages and toast. Daichi sits and begins plating himself a breakfast without a second thought.

“I, uh, wasn’t sure what you’d like,” Kuroo calls from the recesses of the apartment. “So I just made everything.”

“Well, you’ll have leftovers,” Daichi laughs. “Like, a lot of them.”

Kuroo doesn’t answer and doesn’t reappear until Daichi’s food is three quarters gone. He grabs his mug of coffee and sits across from Daichi, looking slightly more human. He watches Daichi shovel eggs into his mouth over the rim of his cup.

“Are you not going to eat?” Daichi questions after a few minutes.

Kuroo shrugs. “Not a breakfast guy.”

Daichi huffs. “There’s no way you got away with that while you were playing.”

“I didn’t, but I’m not playing anymore.”

“Didn’t you just get into the habit?”

“Clearly not.”

“Come on, you’re gonna be starving in two hours.”

“What do you think the coffee is for?”

“At least eat a little rice.”

“Fuck, Daichi, you sound like my mom.” Kuroo grins at him, and it’s lopsided and he’s still not quite awake and shit, he’s handsome. Daichi’s heart thrums unevenly against his ribcage. “You gonna get on my case for my socks not matching, too?”

Daichi laughs and aims a kick in his direction. “I don’t give a shit if your socks match.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

The smile hasn’t faded from his face. Daichi squashes down the urge to reach over and touch his lips with his thumb or fingers or mouth.

“Finish your breakfast,” Kuroo says, lifting his chin toward Daichi’s plate. “I wanna get going.”

“Now who’s being the mother,” Daichi protests, but he does as he’s told anyway and ignores the continued throbbing rhythm of his heart.

***

By the fifth store, Daichi has to admit he’s totally lost. Kuroo is too, which is something of a comfort. A quick snack before this store is tiding them over, otherwise by now Daichi would be tired  _ and _ hungry. It was nice of Kuroo to treat him, though, since he’s the one dragging Daichi all over the city.

Call him traditional, old-fashioned, whatever; Daichi is a lot more comfortable just giving money. It’s the easiest and most flexible gift, and it requires next to no thought on his part.  _ This _ , however. This is excruciatingly painful.

“Ah, I really have no idea what to get her,” Kuroo says, picking up a waffle maker and examining it closely. “Like, what is the point of this?”

“Waffles,” Daichi says with a laugh. “It says so right on the box.”

“Fuck you,” Kuroo answers, but there’s no heat behind it. He sets the box back down.

“Did they not create a registry?”

“Nope. They wanted western but their parents wanted traditional, so they split it fifty-fifty, pretty much.”

“Hm.” Daichi points out a blender. “Fancy smoothies.”

“I don’t really see Ichika as a smoothie type.”

“I feel like we could go at this all day.”

“There are a lot of things I would like to go at all day, Sa’amura, and this is not one of them.”

Daichi snorts. “Okay, so. If you were getting married, what would you want to get as a gift?”

Kuroo looks up from the toaster in his hands and meets Daichi’s eyes. Daichi finds, rather suddenly, that he can’t breathe. He hadn’t meant it as anything more than a lighthearted question, but now he realizes there could have been another implication. Yearning blooms in his chest, bright and painful, as Kuroo carefully sets the toaster back on the shelf and gives an awkward chuckle.

“I don’t know, man. I guess I never really thought about it.”

Daichi’s lungs collapse in on themselves. He turns away and folds his arms over his chest to keep his body upright.

“Why, what would you want to get?” Kuroo asks.

Daichi squats down to look at the bottom shelf, if only to give himself some distance from the implosion of his heart. Suga’s words about not exploding in the rented suit resonate in his ears; he’ll be pleased to learn Daichi didn’t even make it to the wedding. He huffs a laugh that sounds ingenuine even to himself. “Dunno. Guess I never really thought about it, either.”

There’s nothing more to say to that, Daichi supposes. They both get quiet and awkward and wander the aisles for a while longer. One of them will occasionally make a suggestion out loud, or read information from a box, but otherwise they’re silent. Finally, Daichi comes across the perfect gift. He snorts and stops Kuroo from moving on, grabbing his elbow.

“Picnic basket,” he says, pointing it out. He’s not thinking about Suga’s own words; why would he be thinking about that? “You can grab a bottle of wine and a blanket and throw those in there too.”

“Sawamura Daichi, you’re a fucking genius.” Kuroo meets his eyes for a moment, and Daichi sees another life, where Kuroo leans in and kisses him. Instead of doing that, Kuroo punches him in the arm. “This is why I brought you along.”

“Right,” Daichi says softly, rubbing at his arm.

They grab all the elements of the gift and check out, Kuroo chattering excitedly all the way. Daichi feels a little separate from his own body, like maybe he left his soul somewhere back in the kitchen section and only his physical form is standing beside Kuroo now. He tries to blink himself out of it, and by the time everything’s bagged and ready to go, he sort of begins to feel like himself again.

“Aw, shit,” Kuroo mumbles as they come out of the store.

It’s pouring. The heavens had opened up sometime while they were inside, and they don’t appear to be closing any time soon. Daichi heaves a sigh as Kuroo hefts the box under his arms and turns to him.

“We can wait here a minute. Maybe it’ll let up.”

“Sure.”

They linger under the awning of the home goods store. Kuroo’s standing a little closer than he normally would, but Daichi chalks it up to trying to avoid the rain. He tries to calm his racing heart.

“So,” Kuroo says. He fidgets with the handle of the bag. “I’m free the rest of the day. If you’re not doing anything.”

Daichi curses his body for reacting immediately to Kuroo’s words; his cock twitches in his jeans. Still, something in him tells him maybe he ought to say no tonight. Maybe he should go home, maybe he should finally stop lying by omission and tell Kuroo how he really feels.

Kuroo licks his lips. “Should probably thank you for saving my ass twice over about the wedding now.”

“Twice over?” Daichi questions, a grin lifting his lips in spite of himself.

“You agreed to be my fake boyfriend and you picked out the gift,” Kuroo says. “Without you I’d be a family disappointment who brought...I don’t know. A bag of condoms and lube.”

Daichi bursts into laughter. “That never crossed your mind.”

“It did,” Kuroo sighs. “I’m properly abashed.”

Daichi laughs some more, and Kuroo’s lips twitch into a smile. 

“So...what do you say?” he asks when Daichi’s calmed himself. His voice has dipped into that low register that he knows Daichi can’t resist. “Wanna let me thank the man of the hour?”

What the hell, Daichi thinks. “Better be a damn good thank you, Kuroo.”

“Oh, it will be,” Kuroo answers.

Kuroo drives them back to his apartment with one hand on the wheel and one on Daichi’s thigh. It’s almost comforting, at least at first, until he starts to slip further and further up toward Daichi’s groin. Daichi’s half-convinced he’s going to get a handjob in the front seat and get them both arrested for public indecency, but he can’t seem to find the words to stop Kuroo, either. He’s hard and desperate by the time Kuroo pulls into the lot for his unit.

“I hate you,” Daichi breathes as Kuroo takes his hand away.

“Say that again once I’ve had my way with you, Sa’amura,” Kuroo says, throwing the car into park and wrenching open his door.

The rain has only intensified as they’ve driven home. Kuroo opts to leave the gift in the trunk where it’s safe, for the moment, and the two of them make a mad dash across the lot and into the lobby. They end up drenched despite their efforts, and by the time they’re at Kuroo’s door they’re both laughing madly.

Once Kuroo gets them inside, though, it’s a different story.

He pushes Daichi up against his door and presses their bodies together; it seems Daichi wasn’t the only one affected by Kuroo’s wandering hands in the car, because his cock digs into Daichi’s thigh and makes him moan. He skips kissing Daichi’s mouth altogether and goes straight for his neck, where he knows Daichi is weakest. 

“Shit, Kuroo,” Daichi gasps, grasping at his soaking hair. “Shit, don’t stop.”

“Not gonna,” Kuroo murmurs. His hands find the button of Daichi’s jeans; he fumbles, the rainwater making it hard to undo, until Daichi reaches down and covers his hands with his own. He fights the material of his jeans and does his best to shimmy out of them. Kuroo follows them down, pausing only long enough to pull Daichi’s cock out of his boxers. He takes Daichi halfway in one swallow and Daichi moans, not letting go of Kuroo’s hair. 

Kuroo brings him all the way to the edge right there against the door, sucking and swallowing until Daichi’s thighs tremble with the effort of keeping him upright. Finally he tugs Kuroo off of him, pulls him back up and brings him in for a bruising kiss.

“Let me finish,” Kuroo says, trying to go back down to his knees.

Daichi huffs. “Take off your clothes, idiot, you’re gonna catch cold.”

A parade of clothing follows them into Kuroo’s bedroom, and by the time they collapse on the mattress Daichi’s naked entirely and Kuroo’s only got his socks on. Daichi grabs the toe of one and flings it across the room before pulling Kuroo back to him.

They’ve kissed before; Daichi isn’t into the kind of sex that doesn’t involve at least a little kissing, and he and Kuroo have fucked around enough by now to know each other’s preferences. But it’s never felt quite like this before. Daichi can’t put his finger on what the difference is, because as far as he knows nothing has changed. But it’s electric, the way Kuroo seeks him out over and over, never straying from his mouth for more than a minute or two. He pauses long enough to press the lube into Daichi’s hands and murmur “fuck me” before taking him again, tangling their tongues, pressing his body into Daichi’s like it’s not a choice to stay away. 

Daichi preps him half-heartedly, too distracted by the way Kuroo’s mouth and body move against his own to focus on really stretching Kuroo the way he should be stretched. There’s a mess of pre-come on his stomach, his own and Kuroo’s mixing together. Kuroo ruts against his abs when Daichi brushes up against his prostate.

“Can’t wait anymore,” he insists, his mouth against Daichi’s jaw.

Daichi pulls out of him. “Don’t wanna hurt you, you’re not ready—”

“Daichi, if you don’t fuck me right now I will find someone to do it for you.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Daichi grumbles. He breaks away to reach for a condom, but Kuroo’s hand finds his wrist.

“No condom,” he says.

They’re both out of breath. Daichi’s chest is heaving, his heart beating erratically, his body sparking everywhere that it’s connected to Kuroo’s.

“You sure?” Daichi questions.

“You’re clean, right?” Kuroo asks.

Daichi swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, there’s, uh. There’s no one but you.”

Daichi wonders for half a moment if he’s said too much, because Kuroo hesitates, his jaw dropping just a hair. He’s preparing for rejection, preparing for his heart to break, when Kuroo surges forward and kisses him, too hard, all teeth and barely any lip.

“No condom,” he says again. “Let me feel you.”

“Fuck,” Daichi gasps. “How do you wanna—”

“This is good,” Kuroo says. “I’ll ride you and—yeah, yeah, this is good.”

He sits up and scoots back; Daichi guides him down onto his cock, one hand on his thigh and the other holding himself up. Kuroo hisses as he sinks further down.

Daichi can’t help but huff. “Told you.”

“Shut the hell up,” Kuroo says. “Need you, fuck, Daichi, I—”

“I’ve got you.” Daichi squeezes the muscle beneath his palm. “I’ve got you, take your time, it’s alright.”

Kuroo bites his lip as he bottoms out, his ass flush against Daichi’s thighs. He breathes in short pants. Daichi reaches up and touches his face. 

“Next time we prep more.”

“Next time we prep more,” Kuroo agrees, although he doesn’t look pleased about it. He leans back down and kisses Daichi again. Daichi wraps his free hand around Kuroo’s waist and holds him close.

He stays in Daichi’s arms as he begins to move, lifting his hips but otherwise remaining flat against Daichi. It can’t be comfortable for him, and Daichi lets his hand fall away, but Kuroo grabs stubbornly at it and wraps it around himself. 

“Daichi,” he breathes into Daichi’s collarbone. “Daichi, Daichi…”

Daichi bites his tongue, hard, and then he stops biting it. “Tetsurou,” he answers softly.

Kuroo groans and pauses with Daichi deep inside him. He presses himself somehow impossibly closer to Daichi, and Daichi’s sure they’re both catching fire, that they’ll burn down the whole goddamn apartment complex with the way they’re burning up. 

“Tetsurou,” he says again, and Kuroo whimpers, his hips shaking under Daichi’s touch. “Tetsurou, baby, I’ve got you.”

Kuroo lifts his hips and slams down again, and again, and Daichi starts up a quiet mantra of his name. With each moan, Kuroo’s skin slaps against his own. They’ve wandered fully into uncharted territory, and while Daichi’s terrified of what might happen when they’ve finished, it feels  _ so fucking good _ in this moment that he can’t help but slip his hand between them, stroke Kuroo’s cock in short, jerky motions. They haven’t been at it long, but he knows they’re both close, so close; he wraps his legs around Kuroo’s waist and flips them.

“Daichi!”

“I’ve got you, Tetsurou,” he assures him. “I’ve got you.”

Kuroo wraps his arms around Daichi’s neck and tugs him down so they can kiss, sloppy and half just breathing against each other. Kuroo howls as Daichi presses into his prostate over and over and resumes whispering his name against his mouth and neck and throat.

Kuroo finishes first, on a particularly deep thrust as Daichi strokes him. The way he clenches around Daichi’s cock has Daichi tumbling after him, groaning and panting hard. They shake apart together; Daichi lifts his head long enough to press his forehead against Kuroo’s, and they gaze into each other’s eyes as they come down.

“That was…” Kuroo murmurs some time later.

Daichi nods. “Yeah.”

Neither of them move. There’s things Daichi should say, things he’s desperate to say, but his tongue is stuck in the back of his throat.

“Do you mind…?”

“Sorry, yeah.”

Daichi pulls out slowly, mumbling apologies under his breath as Kuroo winces. He lands on his stomach beside Kuroo, turning his head to look at him. Kuroo licks his lips as he looks over at Daichi. 

That same nameless something passes between them, stronger than ever before, and Daichi knows he can’t go any longer without naming it. He’s in love with Kuroo Tetsurou. He’s in love, and god, he wants to say something. He opens his mouth and hesitates for half a moment, and then Kuroo’s speaking.

“We should’ve thrown the clothes in the dryer,” Kuroo says with a sigh. “You can borrow some of mine to get home so you don’t have to wear ‘em soaked like that.”

Home. Right. Daichi bites his lip, bites his tongue.

“Thanks,” he says. He sounds robotic, distant even to himself. He goes through the motions of getting up out of bed and digging through Kuroo’s drawers to find a pair of sweats and a shirt that sort of fit him. Kuroo’s longer, but he’s broader, and a sliver of his hips doesn’t quite get covered up by either article. He can feel the weight of Kuroo’s gaze on him the whole time he’s getting dressed, but he can’t find anything to fill the silence between them.

“Guess I’d better go,” Daichi says.

Kuroo stares at him for a long moment. Daichi thinks he’s going to say something, maybe something like “stay,” maybe something like “I’m in love with you, too.” Instead, he breaks eye contact and stares up at the ceiling.

“I’ll see you Friday,” he says.

Daichi swallows past the lump in his throat. “Friday,” he affirms, and he leaves with an armful of wet clothing and the pieces of his shattered heart.

***

Even Suga hadn’t had anything positive to say about that.

“To be clear, I still think you should tell him,” he’d said as Daichi had whined into the phone the next night. “I just don’t have an explanation for yesterday. But like, I don’t know, Dai. Your decisions have been questionable at best, and you’re generally a pretty reasonable guy. Kuroo’s not all that reasonable to begin with.”

“Fuck off,” Daichi says weakly. 

“I hate to pull this card, but you know I’m right about this,” Suga says. 

From the background, Daichi hears Asahi’s voice. “He’s right about this!”

“Thanks, Asahi,” Daichi sighs. “Do either of you have any advice on how to get through this weekend without telling him how I feel?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t offer it,” Suga says. “Come on man, you’re a firefighter. You’re supposed to be brave.”

“I  _ am _ brave!”

“You can walk into burning buildings but not confess your feelings?”

“It’s different types of bravery!”

“Alright, well, good luck. If you combust I’m taking your record collection.”

“Thanks, Suga.”

He suffers through the rest of the week. If Kuroo had been on his mind before, it’s nothing compared to now. It feels like every waking moment is consumed by him. A few minutes before he’s set to leave Friday afternoon, his boss puts a hand on his shoulder and narrows his eyes and asks if he’s  _ okay _ . It’s mortifying, and it’s worse when he has to lie and say he’s fine.

When he steps out of the shower after his shift, he gets three texts from Kuroo. The first is a selfie, Kuroo holding up Daichi’s suit from the rental place.

>> _ one sexy suit comin right up _ _   
_ >> _ see you soon _

Daichi pockets his phone.

Kuroo had assured him that the dress expectation was pretty casual for the dinner, but he still goes for a purple button up and black slacks, not wanting to embarrass Kuroo by looking terribly out of place. He stuffs a black tie into his pocket, unable to decide whether he wants to go that far or not. He still overthinks his choice all the way from his apartment to Kuroo’s, nearly turning around three times on the short ride over. When he finally pulls into Kuroo’s parking garage, he leans his head against the steering wheel.

“Get it together,” he mumbles.

His inner Suga tells him to stop talking to himself.

With a great heave of effort, he gets out of the car and heads up to Kuroo’s apartment.

Kuroo answers the door with his pants around knees and a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “Shorry,” he manages, hopping back toward the bathroom. “Almosht ready!”

When he emerges from the bedroom ten minutes later, he’s in a completely different pair of pants, black where the previous pair had been blue, and a deep red shirt with a black tie that he’s still working on knotting. Daichi has to swallow hard to keep himself from gasping, and it turns into a cough.

“You alright?” Kuroo asks, looking up.

Daichi nods quickly, pulling his own tie out of his pocket. “Guess that answers that question.”

“Eh, we’ll probably be a bit overdressed,” Kuroo says. “But if it keeps my aunties from bothering me too much, that can only be a good thing.”

“Bothering you?”

“They don’t quite understand the gay thing, so most family events end in me dodging about a hundred thousand questions about when I’ll be giving them children to fawn over.”

Daichi snorts. “I stopped trying to explain bisexual years ago.”

“See? It’s easier if you just look unapproachable.” He smirks. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“C’mon, Sa’amura, it’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Daichi feels dread in the pit of his stomach. “Right. Just meeting your mother and convincing her I’m your boyfriend.”

“It’ll be a breeze.”

***

Daichi’s initial assessment of Kuroo Fumiko is that he understands where Kuroo gets his terrible laugh.

It’s the first thing he hears as he and Kuroo enter the venue for the dinner. The rehearsal is already over and most of the rest of the family is already gathered, it seems, and although Kuroo’s mother isn’t at the head table, she is the brightest—and loudest—among any of them. Kuroo immediately lights up when he sees her, and he slips his hand into Daichi’s. Before Daichi quite knows what’s happening, he’s being tugged across the floor to the table, where his fate awaits.

“Okaa-san!” Kuroo calls, and his mother turns her beam upon him—and therefore upon Daichi, who shrinks a bit under her gaze.

“Tetsurou!” She makes her way over to them, and Kuroo lets go of Daichi’s hand so he can give his mother a tight hug. It’s kind of amusing, the way he towers over her—he has at least twenty-five centimeters on her, so Daichi muses to himself that he must get his height from his dad’s side of the family. When she pulls away from him, she turns to Daichi. “And you must be the infamous Sawamura Daichi.”

Daichi scratches the back of his neck. “My reputation precedes me.”

Daichi is shocked to find himself gathered into a hug just as tight as the one she’d given Kuroo. “Indeed,” she says. “But don’t worry too much. Tetsu has only the kindest things to say about you.”

Daichi shoots Kuroo a look; he avoids Daichi’s gaze, blushing high on his cheekbones. 

“Well, uh, I hope I don’t disappoint.”

“Nonsense, Sawamura-kun,” she says, pulling away from him and putting a heavily adorned hand on his forearm. “Tetsu loves you, so I’m sure I will, too.”

Daichi’s pretty sure his heart is setting some sort of record for “fastest a heart can beat and still function.” He stammers out a response of some sort before Kuroo manages to sweep him into a seat, putting himself between Daichi and his mother. He reaches for the glass of wine at his spot and takes a long sip of it. 

Daichi follows, a bit more slowly but just as shaky. When the waiter comes by a moment later, Kuroo waves him down to refill both their glasses.

“So, Sawamura-kun,” says Fumiko. “Tell me about yourself.”

***

Daichi’s amended impression of Kuroo Fumiko is that she is much, much kinder than her son.

She chats with him during the entire meal, asking questions about his family and personal life without making it feel like she’s trying to poke or prod him. Daichi knows what it feels like when an auntie is trying to suss out whether he’s a good match for whatever beloved family member she’s trying to marry off; this feels like Fumiko actually wants to get to know him. He finds himself smiling more often than not, telling her about work and Suga and Asahi and the park by his apartment he likes to run through sometimes. She’s delighted to hear stories from the camps he and Kuroo shared back in high school. By the time the dessert plates are cleared, Daichi’s parched from how much he’s spoken; he’s barely touched that second glass of wine.

Kuroo’s on his fourth.

He leans into Daichi’s side as Fumiko goes to mingle with other family members after the meal, laying his head on Daichi’s shoulder. “You’re getting on well,” he says, surprisingly quiet.

Daichi laughs. “Yes. I didn’t realize you’d told her so much about me.”

“‘Course I did,” Kuroo sighs. He tilts his whole head to look up at Daichi. “You’re important to me. One of the most important people I know. I love you, man.”

And oh, how it brings Daichi crashing back down to earth, to hear those words spoken so flippantly, so casually. He knows Kuroo doesn’t mean it the way Daichi wants him to mean it. The time bomb in his heart ticks a little closer to zero. “You’ve had too much to drink,” Daichi answers, reaching for Kuroo’s glass to pull it out of his reach.

“Hm,” Kuroo says. “You should meet Chika-chan. You’ll like her. She’s not like me.”

Daichi’s brows furrow. “What does that mean?”

“She’s nice. Like mom.”

“You’re nice, Kuroo.”

“Not like them,” he says, shaking his head. “I lied to my mom, Daichi.”

Daichi glances around; they’re alone for the moment, although at any given time an auntie is liable to approach. He runs his hands through Kuroo’s hair (a nice perk of being his fake boyfriend, Daichi suppose, is the ability to do this and make it look like part of the act). “Keep your voice down,” he murmurs.

“Daichi,” Kuroo says, sitting up abruptly. He takes Daichi’s hands. “I’m sorry about this. I’m really, really sorry.”

Daichi watches him for a moment. “You’re not usually a sad drunk.”

“I’m not sad, ‘m being honest.” He squeezes Daichi’s hands. “You deserve better than this. You should get to go to a wedding with your real boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Whoever you want.”

Daichi laughs softly. “I don’t want to go to any weddings, so don’t worry too much about it.”

“Dates, then,” Kuroo says. “You should get to go on dates. You should buy yourself a picnic basket and a bottle of wine and ask someone on a date.”

Daichi swallows. There’s something Kuroo’s not saying, and he doesn’t understand at all. “Kuroo, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hope we’re not interrupting,” says a light, airy voice behind Daichi.

He turns to see a beautiful fair woman in a short white dress standing beside a man in a blue shirt and khakis.

“Chika-chan,” Kuroo says, standing and moving around Daichi. He grips her tightly in a hug. In her heels, she’s a bit closer to his height, but still it seems he’s got quite a bit on most of his family. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Tetsurou, we saw each other last month,” Ichika says. “And somehow you forgot to tell me about this boyfriend of yours.”

Kuroo lets her go and turns to Daichi, looking mournful. “That’s because he’s not really my boyfriend.”

“He what?” Ichika questions.

“Gods above,” Daichi says, standing quickly and wrapping an arm around Kuroo. “Tetsu, love, we should really get going—”

“Tetsurou, what are you talking about—”

“Chika-chan!”

Fumiko’s booming voice cuts into the confusion. She comes over to hug Ichika, and Daichi glares daggers at Kuroo, trying to convey to him to  _ shut the hell up _ .

Ichika and Fumiko spend what feels like an hour exchanging pleasantries. Kuroo droops further and further into Daichi’s hold. Daichi prays for patience.

Ichika clears her throat finally and glances at Daichi. “Actually, I was just going to show Tetsurou and his boyfriend—ah, so sorry, I’ve forgotten your name!”

“Sawamura Daichi,” Daichi provides.

“I was going to show Tetsurou and Sawamura-kun the gardens out back.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “To be honest, I need a breath of fresh air and a moment of quiet. Would you mind keeping my mother distracted until I get back?”

Fumiko grins and winks. “Of course, dear. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you, Oba-san,” Ichika says. “Come on, Tetsurou.”

Daichi hauls Kuroo out of the main hall, down a dark hallway, and out the back door to a beautifully lit garden. It’s drizzling, but there’s a large awning that they stand beneath. Ichika leans in and kisses her fiance on the cheek, and he wanders off a bit to light up a cigarette. Then she turns and directs a fierce look toward Kuroo.

“Spill, Tetsurou.”

Kuroo collapses into a metal chair and gestures broadly at Daichi. “We’re not actually dating.”

Ichika raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “But Oba-san thinks you are?”

Kuroo nods miserably. “I didn’t mean to lie to her, and she was so excited…”

“So you came along as the fake date,” Ichika says, turning to Daichi. “That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Daichi says, feeling very uncomfortable.

“I thought it strange that you should change your mind so last minute,” Ichika says to Kuroo. She sighs and lays a hand on his shoulder. “I want the full story, but you are not sober enough to go back in there. You were always too honest when you drank.”

Kuroo only hums in response.

“Sawamura-kun, I look forward to the chance to get to know you under different circumstances. Thank you for looking after my favorite cousin. He needs all the help he can get.”

“Shut up,” Kuroo says weakly, but when Daichi looks down he thinks he sees a faint pink dusting Kuroo’s cheeks.

“I’ll let Oba-san know you went home, but I’m not promising I won’t make it dirty.” Ichika crosses her arms over her chest. “That’s what you get for being a rotten liar.”

“Chika!”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She hauls him upright and into a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Please drink water tonight.”

Kuroo grumbles, but doesn’t fuss too much as Ichika passes him off to Daichi. 

The car ride home is quiet. Kuroo turns up the radio and hums just out of tune, but it’s pleasant and warm. The temptation to reach over and take his hand is strong; he’s saved from having to fight himself on it when Kuroo does it for him.

Daichi swallows as he looks over at him. “Kuroo?”

“‘M gonna have a headache tomorrow,” he sighs as he laces their fingers together.

Daichi decides he’s not going to question it any further.

When they pull into Kuroo’s apartment complex and Daichi puts the car in park, Kuroo leans over and puts his head on Daichi’s shoulder.

“Come up with me,” Kuroo mumbles.

Daichi sighs. Kuroo’s long past the point in the night where he’ll do anything but pass out when they hit the bed, and yet he knows there’s nothing he can do to escape the inevitable pull of his own body toward Kuroo’s. He can’t walk away from Kuroo Tetsurou.

“Come on,” Daichi answers, his voice quiet and resigned, but he doesn’t think Kuroo can pick that tone out at the moment. He wraps his arm around Kuroo’s waist as they make their way up the stairs, helping steady him.

Kuroo lets them into his apartment, and his hand slips into Daichi’s as he heads toward the bedroom. Daichi’s prepared to refute him if necessary, but when they get there, Kuroo leans heavily into Daichi’s side.

“You need a hand?” Daichi asks, amused.

“Mm.”

Daichi huffs a laugh as he helps unbutton Kuroo’s shirt and undoes the zipper on his slacks. As soon as he’s down to his boxers, he crawls into bed, reaching out his hand for Daichi. Daichi goes, because of course he does, and sits on the side of the bed. 

“You’ve got an alarm set?” he asks quietly.

“Mmhmm.”

“You’re not gonna snooze?”

“Mm.”

“Your suit’s ready?”

“Daichi,” Kuroo huffs. “Stop asking me stupid questions.”

“Alright, alright. Go to sleep then.” 

It’s quiet for a moment. Kuroo scoots closer to him, practically putting his head in Daichi’s lap. Daichi should probably grab Kuroo a glass of water and some painkillers for the morning on his way out, he thinks distantly to himself, and he’s trying to decide where in Kuroo’s kitchen he might find the medications when Kuroo turns the world on its axis.

“Stay,” he whispers.

Tears threaten to well up in Daichi’s eyes. Here is the one word he’s been so desperate to hear, and he’s only getting it because Kuroo is too drunk to be alone. He runs his hands through Kuroo’s hair.

“I can’t,” he answers. “I don’t have clean clothes here, I have to get ready at home.”

“You can go home in the morning,” Kuroo insists. He wraps his arms around Daichi’s waist. “Stay.”

Daichi chews the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes iron. This is a bad, bad idea. He knows he’s setting himself up for heartbreak. He knows there’s no coming back from this. He knows there’s an inevitable breaking point, and he knows he’s hurtling toward it.

“Alright,” he agrees, and another little piece of his heart is chipped away.

“Yay.” Kuroo presses himself close to Daichi, his face flush against Daichi’s thigh. “Warm.”

“Let me get out of my clothes, at least,” Daichi says, laughing quietly despite himself. 

Kuroo mumbles something that sounds like a disagreement, but he’s drunk enough that it’s easy for Daichi to untangle himself and stand. He gets down to his boxers—it’s not like Kuroo hasn’t seen all of him anyway—and eases himself back into the bed. Kuroo’s already breathing deeply, and Daichi thinks he’s passed out, has half a thought to get up and leave again, but then he throws an arm and a leg over Daichi. Daichi adjusts, slipping an arm beneath his head and around his back.

“Thanks,” Kuroo sighs. His breath tickles Daichi’s neck. “You’re comfy. Thick. Like a pillow.”

“Go to sleep, Kuroo,” Daichi answers, despite the way his words make Daichi’s heartbeat race. 

“Mmhmm,” Kuroo agrees.

It’s not long before he does just that, snoring softly with his head pillowed on Daichi’s bicep. Kuroo is apparently just as distracting in sleep as he is during his waking hours. He looks years younger, relaxed and content, and Daichi has a hard time tearing his eyes away. He’s torn between the desire to shut himself down, shut his heart away, and the desire to savor every moment of this night, knowing he’ll never have it again.

It feels like hours later before his eyelids finally begin to droop. He takes a deep breath and turns his face toward Kuroo’s, letting his lips brush against Kuroo’s forehead. 

“Good night, Tetsurou,” he murmurs, and he finally lets sleep claim him.

***

If nothing else goes right today, Daichi muses, at least the rain that’s pounded the city all week has finally let up.

He’d crawled out of Kuroo’s bed after a very, very minimal amount of sleep. It had taken him longer than he cared to admit to find the painkillers in Kuroo’s kitchen, but he’d eventually delivered them to Kuroo’s bedside table with a bottle of water before returning to his own apartment. He’d turned the shower on scalding, trying to wash away the scent of Kuroo’s sheets from his skin, even if he couldn’t erase it from his mind. 

Now he’s staring at himself in the mirror, suited up and ready to go, and trying to talk himself into actually leaving the apartment.

He’s cutting it awfully close on time at this point; if traffic is bad, he’s definitely going to be late, which is only going to serve to stress Kuroo out, and that’s the last thing he wants or needs. But everything in him feels like lead, from the pit of his stomach to the heels of his feet, and it’s all he can do to keep himself upright.

He feels like his implosion is inevitable today. Like he can see it but not stop it.

Unfortunately, his feelings on the matter are irrelevant. A promise is a promise, and he has to be there for Kuroo today, damn his own heart. 

It’s that thought that finally pushes him away from the mirror and out the door.

A quick check of his phone when he arrives at Kuroo’s door tells him he’s only two minutes late, which is definitely in the realm of acceptable, he decides as he knocks. Kuroo’s on the phone when he answers, and he doesn’t spare Daichi a second glance—until he does. He freezes, halfway through his sentence, and stares at Daichi with his jaw hanging open. His eyes flicker down over Daichi and back up to his face, and they stare at each other for a long moment in which Daichi feels like a piece of meat.

“Sorry,” Kuroo manages, although whether it’s directed at him or the person he’s talking to on the phone, Daichi isn’t sure. He opens the door enough for Daichi to enter. “Yeah, yeah, Daichi just got here. We’re leaving soon. Okay, love you too, bye.” Kuroo hangs up and shoves his phone deep into his pocket. “Hi,” he says, and he seems a little breathless.

Now Daichi takes a moment to look at Kuroo. It’s not like he’s never seen Kuroo in a suit before, but this one looks particularly good, perfectly tailored to Kuroo’s lanky legs and ridiculously long torso. He’s in all black today, minus the red flash of his tie, and he’s got a pair of sunglasses situated in the nest of his hair. He looks incredible; it takes a lot of restraint for Daichi to not push him against the counter and express his appreciation.

“Hey,” Daichi says, and he hopes he hasn’t waited too long to say something. 

Kuroo licks his lips, and hell if that doesn’t make the hairs on the back of Daichi’s neck stand up.

“You good?” Kuroo asks.

Daichi nods slowly. “Yep.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

They stare at each other for another long moment, and Daichi gets the feeling Kuroo might be thinking the same thing he’s thinking: that if they weren’t already late, they’d be tearing each other out of these clothes right now. Finally Daichi snaps out of it.

“Let’s go,” he says, turning back toward the door.

Kuroo turns the music up again in the car, sings along out of tune with his sunglasses pulled low on his nose. Daichi steals glances out of the corner of his eye against his better judgment, but the more he does, the more certain he is that Kuroo’s not looking back at him and it’s safe to do so. He looks totally relaxed, smiling happily as he sings. He must have taken the painkillers, because he doesn’t seem hungover at all. Sometimes Daichi wonders if he’s getting complacent, being around Kuroo all the time, taking how effortlessly handsome he is for granted. He’s reminded now, forcefully, as Kuroo hums the rap part to some English pop song with the sun beaming down on him. 

“You’re staring,” Kuroo says, turning his easy grin on Daichi. “Like what you see?”

Daichi swallows past the acid in his throat. “No,” he says, turning his head to face forward again. “Cats aren’t really my thing. I’m more of a dog person.”

“Liar.” Kuroo laughs and reaches over to punch Daichi in the thigh. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah,” Daichi agrees softly as Kuroo goes back to singing. “I am.”

There’s a flurry of activity in the church where Ichika is getting married. They’re early for non-family guests but the rest of the family is already there, and Fumiko immediately pulls Kuroo away from Daichi.

“Kosuke’s little brother is sick,” she says, taking both of Kuroo’s hands in hers. “He was supposed to be the usher and now we don’t have one.”

“O...kay?” Kuroo says, giving her a questioning look.

Her brows furrow. “You have to do it, Tetsurou. We’re counting on you.”

Kuroo looks alarmed. Daichi hides a laugh in his hand. 

“You’ll be fine,” Daichi says, coming over to Kuroo and wrapping an arm around his waist. Kuroo’s look of panic is turned to Daichi. “Right, sweetie?”

Kuroo blinks, then remembers. He visibly relaxes into Daichi’s hold. “Right. Well, if I’m getting roped into this, don’t think you aren’t.”

“Me?” Daichi questions, but Fumiko is already nodding.

“Yes, yes, my handsome son and his handsome boyfriend being the first people anyone sees at the wedding. That’s good luck.” Daichi isn’t sure that’s true, but he’s not going to question her. “Alright, well, get into place, both of you. Guests will start arriving soon.”

Daichi and Kuroo post up at the back of the church, and Fumiko goes off to assure Ichika all is well. Kuroo leans against the back pew and raises his eyebrows in Daichi’s direction.

“Thanks,  _ sweetie _ ,” he says, smirking. “I was hoping you’d help me get out of it, not get yourself roped in.”

“You’re the one who roped me in,” Daichi laughs. “Although your mother seemed very pleased by that development.”

“Based on what little I gathered of your conversation last night, she likes you,” Kuroo says. His smile falls from his face a bit. “Uh, sorry about that, by the way. And, um. Thanks for taking care of me.”

Daichi does his best not to blush. “You should be thanking Ichika,” he answers. “She covered your ass yesterday, and she did a damn good job, given your mother didn’t ask about where you went.”

“Remind me to ask her later what she told her,” Kuroo sighs. “Knowing her, she gave me a sudden case of irritable bowel syndrome.”

“That’s disgusting, and also our first guest is coming, try not to be yourself for a bit,” Daichi says, straightening, and Kuroo throws him a fake hurt look.

For a while, they’re occupied by taking guests to their seats and passing out programs. Kuroo looks totally in his element, greeting friends and strangers alike with the winning grin Daichi’s so accustomed to. Daichi’s admittedly distracted and has to remember whose side is whose more than once. Kuroo elbows him a few times, when they’ve got a spare minute to rib each other. 

Friendship like theirs doesn’t come easy, Daichi thinks to himself. He doesn’t have any other friends like Kuroo. Although they went a few years in college without seeing each other, when they reunited, it was like no time had passed at all. Now Daichi can’t imagine his life without Kuroo in it. Even when they started sleeping together, their day to day interactions had stayed the same. 

Their relationship hadn’t changed.

Has he been in love with Kuroo all along?

He’s in the middle of that particular crisis of thought when Kuroo tugs on his elbow, and they find a spot next to Fumiko near the front of the church. The music begins, the wedding party processes, and then Ichika comes down the aisle.

She’s a vision, her white dress trailing behind her, dragging the petals thrown by some tiny cousin or sibling a moment before. There are flowers braided into her updo as well, and she looks radiant as she smiles up at her soon-to-be husband.

A wedding is a hell of a place to realize you’ve been in love with someone for years, Daichi thinks as Ichika takes Kosuke’s hands. Daichi doesn’t hear a single word throughout the entire ceremony because he’s so busy imagining that he’s the one standing up there, Kuroo across from him. Suga and Asahi would be at his back, and Bokuto and Kenma at Kuroo’s. Akaashi would be in the front row pretending not to cry. Bokuto and Asahi would be crying openly. Even Kenma might have a few tears in his eyes. Kuroo would make at least three puns in his vows. Daichi would be increasingly exasperated and fond in equal measures, which is how he feels about Kuroo most of the time. 

He’s yanked from his thoughts by something heavy against his palm. When he looks down, Kuroo’s hand is in his own. Kuroo is staring up at the altar, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Without looking, he laces his fingers with Daichi’s.

Daichi swallows. He can’t look away from where their hands are joined, can’t feel anything but Kuroo’s sweaty palm against his own, can’t figure out why he’s doing this except—except Fumiko is just turning her head back to the altar. 

The ruse. Of course.

Somehow Daichi makes it through the end of the ceremony, the handshaking, the subsequent parade over to the reception venue. He takes responsibility for placing the gift on the table, and when that’s done, he slips back outside, placing his back against the brick wall and taking deep breaths. 

All that’s left is the reception, he reminds himself. He’s nearly made it through all of his responsibilities. A few more hours and he can go back to being nothing more than Kuroo’s friend who sometimes has sex with him.

Can’t he?

“You alright?” 

Kuroo’s voice cuts through Daichi’s thoughts, causing him to jump. “Yeah,” Daichi says, straightening and doing his best to smile at Kuroo. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Kuroo leans against the wall. “We can stay out here for a minute. It’ll be a bit before Ichika gets here anyway. They were planning to do pictures between the ceremony and the reception.”

Daichi sighs and looks up at the sky. It’s cloudless today and the sun is shining brightly. He and Kuroo stand in the shade, where there’s a slight breeze to ruffle their suits. The wedding photos will come out lovely, Daichi thinks. It will be a day they remember for the rest of their lives.

“If you’re sure,” Daichi answers, his voice hushed. 

Kuroo comes over to stand beside him, their shoulders just barely brushing together. Daichi can’t help but wish they were holding hands again. 

“I really appreciate you, you know,” Kuroo says. “It means a lot that your friendship withstands even the test of my family.”

“Your mother is much kinder than you are,” Daichi says, voicing his thought from the night before. “As is your cousin.”

Kuroo turns to him, mouth agape. “My mom, absolutely, but Chika-chan? Nicer than me? How dare you, Sa’amura!”

Daichi laughs, the weight in his chest easing a bit. “No doubt in my mind.”

“Ugh, I take back what I said,” Kuroo huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re once again the worst.”

“I’ll wait five minutes, you’ll change your mind,” Daichi laughs, and Kuroo sticks his tongue out at him.

They stand out there a while longer, slipping into their usual banter. It’s light and familiar, and Daichi’s almost feeling like himself by the time the limo containing the wedding party pulls up. Kuroo sighs when he spots it.

“Guess we should head in,” he says.

He reaches for Daichi’s hand.

Daichi’s stomach sinks back down again as he laces their fingers together, and they head into the reception.

The party is loud. Kuroo’s family are partiers, it seems, or at least Ichika’s friends are. It’s not long after the bridal party is introduced and dinner is cleared away that the bride and groom have their first dance, and shortly after that the floor floods with most of the guests. Fumiko pulls Kuroo away for a while to talk, and Daichi watches them with something like affection grating against his heart. At one point, Fumiko catches him staring, tugs on Kuroo’s shoulder, and points in his direction, and they lock eyes across the room.

It sends sparks right down through Daichi’s soul.

He keeps his eyes on the dance floor for a while after that, trying to avoid that response again. He’s not sure his weak heart can take another shock like that. The older couples, the aunties and uncles, don’t seem to know quite what to do with the music, swaying back and forth at odd intervals. The younger couples jump and rave and grind against each other. The last wedding Daichi attended was all traditional, and he tries to imagine his own cousins dancing like this in traditional yukatas. It makes a smile spring to his face.

“Sorry about that,” Kuroo says, slipping into the chair beside Daichi. “Mom spent twenty minutes interrogating me about my diet to see why I would suddenly be allergic to shellfish.”

“I take it that was Ichika’s excuse.”

“I’m gonna kill her the next time I see her.”

“But not today.”

“Nah,” Kuroo says, his eyes finding her on the floor. “Not today.”

She and Kosuke are wrapped around each other. Most of her hair has fallen out of its updo, but she still looks gorgeous as she dances, really, truly happy in a way that’s rare outside of movies. She and her husband have eyes for no one but each other. 

Daichi wonders what he and Kuroo would look like, dancing together on their wedding day. He squashes the thought before it has a chance to grow.

“We should dance,” Kuroo says, somewhat absentmindedly. His chin is pillowed in his palm, and he looks half asleep, like a particularly content house cat, as he watches the party.

Daichi nearly chokes on his sip of champagne. “What?”

“You know, dance,” Kuroo answers. He turns his gaze to Daichi, and a small smile grows over his lips. “Like boyfriends do.”

Daichi takes a deep breath. Boyfriends, which they are not. Which they are pretending to be. Which Daichi desperately wishes wasn’t just an act.

“Right, okay.” Daichi stands and offers Kuroo a hand. “Come on, then.”

Kuroo smiles fully now, standing and slipping his hand into Daichi’s. He laces their fingers together, and they make their way over to the floor.

It’s a slow song that’s playing over the speakers. Daichi’s not the best dancer, but he can at least sway to the beat. He and Kuroo stare at each other awkwardly for a moment before Kuroo takes the hand not twined with his and puts it on Daichi’s waist. Daichi cups his shoulder, and they begin to move.

There are other people on the floor, but Daichi doesn’t notice any of them as he and Kuroo dance. All he can see is Kuroo’s face, Kuroo’s bright eyes looking back at him, the smile on his face as they rotate around the floor. After a minute, he huffs a quiet laugh.

“You could sell it a bit better, Sa’amura,” he teases, and he tugs Daichi closer to him.

Now there are only centimeters between their bodies. Kuroo’s right there,  _ right fucking there _ , and Daichi knows every part of Kuroo’s body like the back of his hand but he’s never seen Kuroo like this, illuminated by the soft glow of the lights and looking at him like he’s the only person in the world. Kuroo must be leading, because Daichi can’t recall making any steps at all but he doesn’t think they’re standing still. Kuroo leans in and presses his forehead against Daichi’s.

“You’re not the worst,” he breathes, and it’s warm against Daichi’s mouth. “I know it was a lot to ask. All of this, I mean.”

“It’s no problem,” Daichi murmurs, even though the last week and a half has been nothing but problems. So he reaches for something closer to the truth. “Anything for you.”

Kuroo laughs softly. “My mom loves you, you know. In the middle of her interrogation she asked when I’m bringing you to dinner.”

Daichi’s heart jumps up into his throat. “What did you tell her?”

“Told her I’d have to ask,” Kuroo says, rolling his eyes. 

Daichi lets his eyes fall closed. “You haven’t figured out how to tell her I’m not really your boyfriend?”

“I have not,” Kuroo confesses. He leans in and rests his chin on Daichi’s shoulder. “Admittedly, it hasn’t been high on my to-do list.”

Daichi takes a deep breath, fighting to keep himself under control. Implosion incoming, rented suit and all. “Can’t bear to get rid of me, huh?”

Kuroo huffs a laugh. Does it sound shaky? Or is that just Daichi? “Turns out you’re quite the mother charmer. She’ll be heartbroken when I tell her it’s just…” 

He trails off. They keep dancing, but Daichi can no longer hear the music past the roaring in his ears. It’s a good thing Kuroo’s leading, because there’s lead in his veins, in his feet, and it’s only the continued push of Kuroo’s body against his own that keeps him moving. For half a moment, he lets himself believe the lie they’re perpetuating to everyone else. He lets himself believe Kuroo really is in love with him. And then Kuroo opens his mouth again.

“Guess I should have brought Suga, after all,” he says softly.

Daichi pulls away to look Kuroo in the face. He’s stopped moving now, after all, because all there is left to do is look at Kuroo. Kuroo stares back at him, his lips parted. His eyes fall to Daichi’s mouth before flickering back up to his eyes.

Daichi grits his teeth, anger blinding him suddenly. Or maybe those are tears.

“Guess so,” he says, his voice close to a growl.

And then he does something he’s never done before:

He walks away from Kuroo Tetsurou.

He can hear Kuroo’s voice calling after him, across the crowded floor, past the tables and out the open door to the venue, where he collapses on the steps. He knows it’s a matter of time before Kuroo catches up, but he takes this moment, this one fucking moment, to hide away from everything, his head in his hands, hot tears running down his cheeks. He can only be grateful there’s not any smokers out here right now. He’s so fucked up, he realizes, to be in love with the one man in Japan who seems incapable of loving him back.

“Sa'amura!” 

Daichi grits his teeth before he lifts his head. “What?”

“I was calling for you,” Kuroo says, panting. He lowers himself onto the step in front of Daichi. “You didn’t stop.”

“No,” Daichi sighs. “I didn’t.”

Kuroo runs a hand through his hair. “You’re crying.”

“Thanks, I was aware.”

Kuroo looks back at the hall for a moment, then back at Daichi. He lifts his pants by the knees and sits on the step beside Daichi.

“I’m missing something here,” he says. “Because I thought we were having a great time in there and now you’re out here crying, and all I did was dance with you. I, uh, didn’t think I was that bad.” He huffs a laugh.

Daichi glares at him. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Kuroo frowns. “I mean, yeah, but what did I do to earn that judgment?”

Daichi balls his hands into fists, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “All of it, Kuroo,” he says, fighting to keep his voice steady. “You—you fuck me for months, make it seem like it’s nothing to you, then you ask me to this wedding as your fake boyfriend and—gods, do you know how fucking hard it was to say yes? Do you know how bad I wanted to tell you to fuck off?”

Kuroo bites his lip. “Daichi, I—”

“I wanted to tell you to fuck off  _ so bad _ ,” Daichi says over him. “But somehow I convinced myself that if I just played along everything would be okay. And then there was the suits, and the corsages, and the dancing, and—I don’t even know what you want from me anymore, Kuroo!”

Daichi’s chest is heaving by the time he finishes. Kuroo looks at him, expression blank, and it only serves to add more fuel to Daichi’s fire.

“And now you’re just fucking staring at me—”

Daichi is cut off by Kuroo’s lips against his own, hard and insistent. A moment passes, and he’s just about to settle into it when he realizes what’s happening and pulls away.

“What the fuck?” Daichi says. “Would you stop it?”

“No, I won’t!” Kuroo answers. “Because that’s all I’ve wanted all night! All week!”

His face is red, and he’s breathing hard. Daichi grits his teeth.

“You’ve got about thirty seconds to explain before I leave your ass here to explain to your very sweet mother why your boyfriend has suddenly disappeared.”

“She’s exactly what happened!” Kuroo says. He grips at his hair again. “Listen, okay, I RSVPed to this wedding solo months ago, because I thought you didn’t want to be anything more than friends who fucked sometimes, only my mom got talking to me about it last week and was giving me the guilt trip of a lifetime about not bringing anyone and so I said there  _ was _ someone and she got so excited and banged on and on about how Ichika would love her favorite cousin to bring his boyfriend and before I could even explain, she’d already made all the calls and arranged it.” 

Daichi frowns. “What made you think I didn’t want to be anything more than friends?”

Kuroo narrows his eyes. “It’s been months and you never said anything.”

“Neither did you, asshole!” 

“Okay, that’s—besides the point—”

“It’s not, it’s the entire point—”

“I thought you’d bring it up—”

“You’re the one who started all of it—”

“Wait,” Kuroo says, shoving his palm against Daichi’s mouth to shut him up. Daichi is so, so tempted to lick it. “You’re telling me you  _ do _ want to be more than friends?”

“Obviously,” Daichi says, except it comes out muffled because Kuroo’s hand is still muting him. Now he licks it. When Kuroo pulls away, a look of disgust on his face, Daichi huffs. “Yeah, I wanna be more than friends with you, you prick. I wanna hold your hand in the park and pack picnics to take with us on stupid dates with you.”

“I,” begins Kuroo. He blinks in confusion. “I wanna hold  _ your _ hand in the park and pack picnics to take with us on stupid dates with  _ you _ .”

They stare at each other for a long moment. And then Daichi begins to laugh.

Kuroo looks mildly alarmed, as he probably should. Daichi can’t seem to hold it in now that he’s begun, and his whole body shakes with it. More tears stream down his cheeks, and he wipes at them with the back of his hand.

“We’re both so stupid,” he manages between laughs, and then he’s clutching at his side again. “We could have—d’you know I only just figured out I’m in love with you? All this time, probably ever since we met.”

Kuroo huffs, his face twisting somewhere between amusement and pain. “Since high school?”

“At least since we met back up again.”

“Daichi, I—I’m sorry. I should have said something all along.”

Daichi shakes his head. “I should have too. I was too afraid I’d lose you as a friend.”

Kuroo reaches out and takes his hands. When he speaks his voice is whisper soft. “You’d never lose me.”

Daichi can’t take it anymore, grabbing Kuroo by the front of his suit and hauling him in for a kiss. Kuroo makes a noise of surprise against his mouth but quickly melts into Daichi’s touch, wrapping his arms around Daichi’s neck and slipping his tongue past his lips. 

Daichi would be content to stay that way forever, or at least for an hour or two, but a cleared throat makes them jump apart from each other. 

Kuroo Fumiko stands at the top of the steps, raising her brow at them.

“You could at least wait until you get home,” she says, but it’s clear from her smile she’s not too mad. 

Kuroo goes bright red and turns his face into Daichi’s shoulder. Daichi grins sheepishly.

“Sorry, Kuroo-san,” he says for both of them. 

She huffs as she comes down the stairs. “We don’t know each other that well, but it seems to me you should be calling me Okaa-san, if you’re going to be continuing to stick your tongue down my son’s throat.” She takes Daichi’s hand as he and Kuroo both splutter. “Come on, they’re cutting the cake.”

Daichi reaches for Kuroo’s hand, and Kuroo takes it gladly, twining their fingers together. It’s not the first time, but this time it’s real, and Daichi isn’t letting go any time soon.

***

“I just want to say, I still have the perfect place for your body.”

Daichi pulls his gaze away from Kuroo to look over to Suga. “Yeah, I’m the most annoying, you were right all along, whatever.”

Kuroo snorts. Daichi’s told him about the months he spent crying to Suga and Asahi; turns out Bokuto and Akaashi were on the receiving end of the same from Kuroo.

“I’m not talking to you,” Suga says. He narrows his eyes at Kuroo and points a chopstick at him. “You hurt my best friend, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“Suga!” Asahi cries. “Can you please not make death threats over dinner?”

“After dinner would be preferable,” Kuroo says dryly. 

Daichi laughs. “Or, you know, not at all.”

Kuroo turns to him with a smirk. “It’s Suga. I can’t ask him to not make death threats, especially where you’re concerned.”

“At least you know where you stand,” Suga says. 

Daichi leans into Kuroo’s side. Kuroo kisses his forehead. Suga makes gagging noises from the other side of the table.

“You know, if it’s gonna be like that all the time, I’m gonna regret trying to get you kids together.”

“Better get used to it, then,” Daichi says with a smirk. “I don’t plan to stop loving him any time soon.”

Kuroo blushes, but he takes Daichi’s hand, too. “Me, neither.”

Suga pretends to faint into Asahi’s side; Asahi pushes him away with a laugh. Daichi looks at the two of them, and then at Kuroo, and thinks to himself that he’s damn lucky to have them in his life. He’s not walking away anymore; he’s walking forward, with his best friends at his side and Kuroo’s hand tightly in his own.

**Author's Note:**

> my socials can be found [here.](https://joshllyman.carrd.co)
> 
> title comes from garth brooks' "shameless"  
> kurodai for some reason gives me 90's country vibes so i listened to a lot of that while i was writing this


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